The Rising of the Sun
by Lisa Paris
Summary: A festive twoshot. Alan has a special reason to give thanks this Christmas morning
1. Chapter 1

**_NB: - This story reflects the secular views of the Eppes family towards the holiday season. Yes, they are Jewish, but like many secular Jews they choose not to boycott the season or their non-Jewish friends, and even have a Christmas/Hanukkah tree. This foible was also true of my Yiddish-speaking Grandparents who always threw a massive party around Christmas/Hanukkah time for all their friends of every religious persuasion_****_. _**

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**Author - **Lisa Paris - 2006

**Disclaimer - **I own no fractions, atoms or particles of Numb3rs. I really wish I owned Don.

**Category K - **Nothing here should really offend. Written from Alan's POV

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**The Rising of the Sun . . .**

"_Oh, the holly and the ivy, when they are both full grown . . ."_ Alan sang happily under his breath as he finished draping greenery around the fireplace. In spite of his Jewish background, he loved all the old Yuletide songs.

Part of the beauty of a house like this was that it leant itself perfectly to Christmas. He stood back and admired his handiwork with an engineer's critical eye. Perfect. The place looked perfect. And it didn't smell too bad either. The scent of pine and candle wax gave him a marvellous festive feeling; as did the wondrous combination of roasting turkey and warm eggnog which wafted tantalisingly out from the kitchen.

All he needed now was some special people to share this Christmas Eve with. As if on cue, the doorbell rang, and the first of his guests arrived.

"Merry Christmas!" It was his old friend Art Stanley and his wife. Of course, they were always the first to appear.

Alan ushered them in and hung up their coats, listening to their exclamations with pleasure. Even though he no longer owned the house, he was still proud of its artistic elegance. He and Margaret had furnished it so carefully. He recalled all the happy hours they'd spent scouring flea-markets and more expensive antique stores, searching for authentic, _Arts and Crafts _pieces, in-keeping with the house's décor. Oak framed pictures and Tiffany lamps, early 20th Century china from England. William Morris patterns and prints - their home had become an expensive hobby. But then birthdays and Christmases had never been a problem; he had always known exactly what to buy.

Alan sighed as he thought about Margaret. How he wished she could be here to share this. To witness how far Don and Charlie had come. How well their precious boys were now bonding together.

"Hey Dad."

Talking of his precious boys, here was one of them at least. It was Charlie. He peered around the door like a bright-eyed bird. "Won't be a minute, just got to take some work out to the garage." There were mysterious packages under his arm as he sidled out into the yard.

Alan smiled to himself. _'Work, my ass.' _Charlie was no good at keeping secrets. He did the same thing every year. Hiding last minute Christmas presents out in the garage and forgetting to buy wrapping paper.

'_Lucky I saw that two for one special, down at the store today.'_ Alan ladled out some more glasses of eggnog and went in search of Larry and Amita.

Amita was looking beautiful in a crimson velvet dress. She smiled a greeting at him and Alan shook his head. Sometimes he had to wonder what the heck was wrong with his youngest. Here she was, sweet and ripe for the picking, like a luscious, dark red cherry. She was even standing underneath the mistletoe he had hung more in hope than expectation. _And where was Charlie? Where was his son? _He was out there all alone in the garage. Probably surrounded by the inevitable numbers and fiddling with a little piece of chalk.

Alan heaved a sigh of frustration. Oh well, there was no point letting centuries of tradition go to waste. If his son was too busy to do the ritual honours, he would just have to act as Charlie's proxy. Folk had been kissing underneath the mistletoe since long before the birth of Christ. He might be getting on a bit, but he certainly wasn't dead. And besides – that really _was_ a knockout red dress. Shame his errant son hadn't noticed.

He leaned forward and gave Amita a paternal kiss on the cheek. "Maybe when Charlie returns from whichever black hole appears to have swallowed him up out in the garage, he'll notice the mistletoe and do that again. _With a little more Christmas spirit."_ He patted her fondly on the arm. "You're looking lovely, if I may say so."

"Thank you." Amita gave him an appreciative grin. She was used by now, to his sardonic sense of humour. "I may have to go fish him out of there. He probably got side-tracked by his boards."

"Mistletoe," said Larry, ruminatively, gazing up at the delicate white berries. "The magical plant of the Druids. The old Gaelic name was _Uile-ice,_ which effectively means all-heal. It's a curious fact that even today, we're only just re-learning about it. Some of our most hopeful medical research is now focused on this ancient plant."

"Humpf," Alan snorted, as he watched Amita walk away. "Magical, you say? Too bad Charlie didn't get to focus on its mystical properties instead of heading straight for the garage. He just wasted a great opportunity to do some biological research of his own."

Larry's forehead creased for a moment as he pondered Alan's words. Enlightenment came after moment or two, and he permitted himself a small, puckish smile. "Ah, yes, I see exactly what you mean. The observation of which, leads one to the anticipatory deduction this would be an advantageous place to be standing. Especially when the FBI contingency walk through the front door."

"Advantageous is right," Alan answered him, gruffly. "So long as you don't try and kiss Don. If you do, you'll be spending the rest of the holidays in search of some _all-heal_ of your own!"

"Hem," Larry cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassedly. "Not that I'm planning to um . . . kiss _him_, you understand, but I take it Don and the rest of his august team are coming?"

"Megan's coming," said Alan, a tad wickedly, enjoying the other man's discomfiture. "Actually, all of Don's_ august_ team are supposed to be coming. As a matter of fact, they're an hour late."

"Alan, is it okay if we watch the sports scores?" Art called him from the living room. "I promise we'll turn the TV off once we catch up on all the latest."

"May as well," Alan settled down on the couch and reached for the remote control. "Seeing as my older son hasn't seen fit to grace us with his presence yet."

He listened with half an ear to the scores and took pleasure in the ambience around him. It was Christmas Eve, he had a house full of friends, and more importantly, the precious gift of family. Or rather, half the precious gift of family. Alan amended the thought, somewhat, as there was still no sign of Don.

Charlie and Amita wandered back in from the garage. Was it his imagination, or had they been holding hands?

"D-Dad - " It was Charlie's voice, stuttering with fear. "On the TV . . ."

Alan looked up sharply and stared at the screen, unprepared for what he was seeing. He'd been dreaming of weddings and rose-covered arbours out in the back yard.

"_We're bringing you some breaking news just in from our Spy in the Sky. An FBI vehicle and a stolen truck have been involved in a fatal pile-up. Eye witness reports state the truck hit the barrier and flipped over onto its side. The pursuing FBI vehicle was forced to swerve in an effort to avoid it. Two other vehicles were damaged in the incident which occurred on the Hollywood Freeway, at just after five pm, this evening. Early reports indicate at least two people have been confirmed dead at the scene, but it's unknown yet, whether the victims were law enforcement officers. Stay tuned for more updates as they keep coming in . . ."_

"I'm sure it's got nothing to do with Don," Art sounded horribly uneasy. He didn't sound very convinced.

"Wouldn't we have heard by now?" Larry left his station under the mistletoe, his face alight with concern. "If by some chance, this terrible calamity was to involve our loved ones?"

Alan couldn't answer, he felt petrified. He just sat there, motionless with fear. Too frozen and heavy to get up from the couch. _It was Don, somehow he knew it._ He just knew it in his bones. His boy, his eldest boy was out there, tangled up in the wreckage. It was Christmas Eve and Donnie was out there. Bleeding, perhaps even dead. He willed himself to look over at the phone.

'_Where would they take him . . . who should I call? Why haven't they contacted me yet?"_

"Dad?" It was Charlie's voice again. He was trembling and uncertain. "I think we should try Don's cell."

"There's no point. He won't pick-up." Alan responded, bleakly. "Don't ask me how, I just know it. Donnie won't answer his phone."

The ring at the doorbell made them all jump. It was Amita who got up to answer it. Alan forced himself to his feet as David Sinclair walked dejectedly into the room. The agent's face was unusually grave and Alan's heart sank even further. He saw the dreadful confirmation he sought written in the other man's eyes.

"How bad is it?"

David cleared his throat awkwardly. "We don't know yet, Mister Eppes. He was unconscious when they took him to UCLA and I haven't heard anything since."

"I'll get my coat," Alan stumbled up heavily. He turned back, as if remembering his guests. "There's food. Probably better not to waste it . . ."

"It's all right." Amita took brisk charge of things. "Don't worry, I'll see to all that. Alan, you and Charlie go with David. Larry and I will take care of the house. Won't we, Larry?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." Larry seemed even more vague than usual. He ran his hand through his hair and looked distractedly at David. "I'm sorry, but I – um - have to ask, was anyone else on Don's team hurt?"

"Colby has a few bumps and bruises, but he got up and walked away from the wreck. Megan accompanied them both to the hospital, but don't worry, Larry, she's fine." David's tone was gentle. "We were following in the vehicle behind."

Larry watched as Alan and Charlie left, his thoughts at odds with one another. On one hand, he was filled with relief. On the other, he was concerned for his friends. He looked sadly up at the mistletoe which hung forlornly over the doorway. When it came to magical properties, they could certainly use a few now.

TBC

Lisa Paris – 2005


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** I own no fractions, atoms or particles of Numb3rs. I really wish I owned Don.

**Category **Nothing here should really offend. Written from Alan's POV

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**The Rising of the Sun . . .**

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**Part II**

Alan paused on the threshold of the Emergency Room. God, how he hated these places. The smell, the impersonal décor, the underlying hints of pain and fear. He stood there and let the feelings flood over him. He felt like turning away. The last, precious years of Margaret's life had been spent in places like this. So many futile hours wasted. A shudder ran through his body. Dear God, it was happening all over again. Except this time, he was here for his son.

"_Please God . . ."_ he found he was praying, muttering under his breath. _"Don't take my son away from me. Not now, on this night of the year. Please don't let Donnie be dead."_

"Alan," Megan Reeves hurried forward to meet them. She looked tired and rather distraught. "I'm so sorry we were unable to contact you before."

"How's Don?" Charlie asked, abruptly. He made no attempt at preamble.

Alan was more than happy to let Charlie do all the talking. For some very, peculiar reason, he seemed to have lost his tongue.

Megan pushed her hair back out of her eyes. There were specks of blood on her shirt. They walked back into the waiting room before she answered the question. "He didn't wake-up in the ambulance and I haven't heard anything since then. The doctor said he'd talk to us once they complete the evaluation."

"What happened? We heard about the accident on a newsflash." Charlie's tone was slightly accusing. "Don said it was a quiet day. '_Finishing up some paperwork,'_ was his actual words. Then, before you know it, we're watching the sports scores and seeing you guys on TV."

Megan looked over at David with a sigh. "Charlie, it was just one of those things. A security truck got hijacked - full of last minute, Christmas Eve takings. It happened to be the luck of the draw that we got called to the scene." She paused, uncomfortably. "I guess these guys were opportunists or amateurs. They made no attempt to conceal themselves. It was only going to be a matter of time before they caused a serious accident. When they flipped on the barrier, Don had to swerve out of the way. He tried to avoid hitting anyone else and he did a pretty good job of it."

"And the fatalities?" Charlie's voice was a little husky.

"Two of the three idiots in the truck. They didn't really stand a chance."

"Eppes family?" A harassed looking doctor came out of one of the examination rooms. He looked across at them. "Special Agent Eppes?"

"That would be us."

Charlie was already marching forward, while Alan lagged slowly behind. He was glad and more than a little relieved Charlie seemed to be coping so well_. 'Far better than you are,' _said the words in his head. He acknowledged the truth of the matter. From the minute he'd first seen the newsflash, he'd been filled with a terrible sense of dread. He'd been taking it all so much for granted, rather like the cat that got the cream. Congratulating himself on a job well done as he'd considered his two fine sons.

He'd known - _oh, yes, he had known it,_ when the pictures came up on the screen. The old, paternal antennae again; his heart told him Don was involved. There'd been fear and a feeling of certainty, that today, his son was not coming home.

"Mister Eppes?" The doctor was looking at him now.

Alan forced himself to brace his shoulders. The bad news wasn't going away. He had to hear it sooner or later. "My son?"

"I'm Doctor Harrison, your son's attending." The doctor held out his hand. "I'll keep this short and to the point, but on the whole, it's pretty good news. Special Agent Eppes has a moderate concussion, but the CT scan was quite clear. He's given his brain a good shaking around, but there are no signs of bleeding or fracture. All in all, he's been very lucky. Just a few other scrapes and bruises but nothing really of note. Once he wakes up, I'll assess him again, and then he can probably go home.

N3N3N3N3N3

Not serious. Don's injuries weren't serious. Alan could hardly believe it. He'd been sure, _he'd been so very sure,_ that this time, their luck had run out. He looked across at Charlie. His younger son was exhausted. With the enviable flexibility of youth, he'd fallen asleep in the hospital chair.

_And talking of sleeping beauties . . . _

Alan switched his glance back to the man in the bed. Don still lay pale and silent. He hadn't so much as moved or twitched and showed no eminent sign of re-joining them. _'No cause for alarm,' _the doctor had said. _'His brain just needs some time to recover.'_

'_Well, he'd better decide to recover soon.' _He'd been unconscious for over twelve hours now, and in-spite of the medical reassurances, Alan was becoming increasingly anxious.

"Come on, Donnie," he whispered the words out loud. "Just open your eyes for me, son. Some Hanukkah chutzpah or a Christmas miracle would go down very nicely right now. Or even Larry's druid magic, if you're into the mistletoe vibe. Charlie and I are both very broad-minded. We can be multi - denominational here."

He placed Don's hand back on the counterpane and got stiffly up to his feet. The hard plastic chair was playing hell with his joints. _He was getting too old for all this._ Moving across to the window, he pulled the blind to one side. Outside, the dawn was breaking in a flush of gold over the sky. Christmas morning. _It was Christmas Day._ But this was _not_ how he'd envisaged spending it. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Not this morning, and especially not to Don.

Alan sighed and stared out of the window. He'd been so happy yesterday morning. Preparing a feast and decorating the house to share with his family and friends. Even though they were both secular Jews, he and Maggie had always thrown a party on Christmas Eve. They'd roasted a massive turkey and done the whole eggnog thing.

His heart just hadn't been up to it. Not the last three years since she'd died. It was Don who'd persuaded him to resurrect the tradition. Don who'd suggested they celebrate. And once he got past the initial sadness, Alan had started enjoying himself.

Just when things were really good, life could throw you a curve ball. _Never take anything for granted._ You'd think he would have learned by now.

The sky was truly spectacular. A watercolour of rose-tinted fire. Shades of night melted into the horizon as Alan watched the Christmas sun rise.

'_Oh, the rising of the sun, and the running of the deer, _

_The playing of the merry organ, sweet singing in the choir.'_

The words of the old pagan carol came unbidden into his head. It had always been one of Margaret's favourites. As a musician, she had loved its ancient origins, and the fact it probably dated back further than a thousand years. It was so full of hope and optimism, filled with happiness and the sheerest of joy. And yesterday, for the first time since the dark days of losing his wife, Alan found himself singing it again.

"Dad?" The word was barely a whisper.

Alan turned quickly at the sound. Don lay watching him with bewildered eyes as the morning sun broke through the clouds. "Donnie, it's good to see you." He moved back over to the bedside, doing his best to sound stoical. He tried so hard, he really did, but his voice wavered perilously off kilter. "Glad you finally decided to wake-up."

Don blinked and looked around him as some of the memories flooded back. "Guess I struck out, right?"

Alan placed his hand on Don's forehead. "If you count missing out on my Christmas Eve dinner, then yes, I guess you did. If you count surviving a total write-off, then maybe you scored a home run."

"Colby," Don struggled up in alarm. "Oh man, did Colby . . ."

"Take it easy," Alan pushed him back down again. "Colby came out of it just fine. Only a few bumps and bruises, much better than you did in-fact. Apparently, you have a concussion, but I suppose you already worked that one out. It's something that can happen when you decide to roll somersaults in the car." He lowered his voice more gently. "Bet you have a doozy of a headache?"

"Yeah." Don gave a tiny grimace of pain. "Hell of a Christmas present."

He threw his arm across his eyes and lay silently for a minute. Alan waited, almost comically resigned. He knew what was coming next.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I messed things up. Your party, the whole Christmas thing. I know how much work you put into it. How hard it was for you, because of mom."

"Hush, Donnie." Alan touched Don's face tenderly. _Lovingly._ For the moment, he had him just where he wanted him. Soon enough, things would revert back to normal, and Don would be his resilient FBI son. "It isn't the party that matters. It's the people that were invited. Oh, sure, it would have been a fun evening, but we can do it again next year. The only thing that's important to me, is you and Charlie, healthy and happy. I don't care about the rest of it. In the end, it's all about love."

"Dad," there was a hint of pleased embarrassment in his elder son's voice. "I hope you know that goes ditto for me, right?"

"Yes," Alan shook his head, dryly. "But don't you go overboard now. Don't get all mushy on me!"

"Hey," said a sleepy voice from the corner. "Did I miss anything?"

"Just your brother getting over-emotional. Must be the knock on the head."

"Don, how are you feeling?" Charlie came across to the bed and placed his hand on Don's shoulder. "I thought you were going to sleep through to the New Year. It's good to see you awake."

"Hey, buddy." Don touched his brother lightly on the fingers. "I hear I missed a good party?" He was aware of Charlie's over-anxious scrutiny and eager to deflect his brother's fears.

"Yeah, well, the doctor said you can probably come home today, if everything checks out okay. There's most likely plenty of food left and Larry and Amita stayed over. As long as you take it quietly, we can still celebrate the holiday."

Alan turned back to the window and watched the sun arc higher in the sky. The pale morning light shone into the room, it was going to be a beautiful day. _'Thank you, Margaret,' _he whispered. _'And whoever else might be listening up there. Thank you for blessing me with a wonderful gift, on this most special of days.'_

"So, the doc says I can come home today, huh?" Don, in typical fashion, was already champing at the bit.

"On the condition you take things really easy. You, big brother, will be chained to the couch. Not so much as lifting a beer."

"Wait a minute, let me tell you something . . ."

"Now, Don, you'd better listen to your brother," Alan summoned up his best fatherly glare. "This time, you get no say in the matter. No working, no drinking, no exertion. Just resting and doing as you're told."

Before Don could murmur in protest, Alan had turned back to Charlie. "Did I hear you say Larry stayed over?" Alan paused and smiled wickedly at Don. "Well, here's one more piece of fatherly advice for you, my son, and I heartily suggest you listen. _If you see Larry standing under the mistletoe, it's probably wise to give him a wide berth . . ."_

_**THE END**_

_**Lisa Paris**_


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